Twelve Clay Feet

Twelve Clay Feet
Hailstones (radio edit)

Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m all for a spot of chest-beating, heart-on-sleeve, totally unabashed stadium rock ‘n’ roll.  We may scoff at Axl Rose’s self-deluded pimping of Guns N Roses’ festering corpse, but how many other frontmen are capable of totally owning Wembley Stadium with the space of two songs?  We may all claim to “hate” Bono, but deep down we know that without his antics, the World would be a far less interesting place – how many other shortarse Irish musicians have the President of the United States on speed-dial?  And more importantly, how many other people can tell you that they’ve emerged, night after night, from a gigantic lemon glitterball or driven a Chihuahua around New York in a leopardprint open-top mini?  You can sneer at them all you want, but right now, in indie bedsit 2012, when the perfectly adequate but hardly exhilarating likes of the Killers and Kings Of Leon can inexplicably fill up arenas with their “mostly standing still and being a bit worthy” schtick, we could do with a few more ridiculous rock stars to liven up the place a bit
Totem Bells